


Sleeper Agent Decepticon

by fluffmonsterc3



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cock Rings, Cuddling, Dirty Talk, Docking, Fluff, Foursome, Hurt/Comfort, Jazz is a horndog, M/M, Mirage is oblivious, Multi, Other, PWP, Polyamory, Secret Agent, Seduction, Size Kink, Snark, Sounding, Spark Sex, Sticky, Threesome, Torture(?), Toys, desk!sex, dub/non-con-ish, frame-worship, overload denial, plug-n-play, sleeper program, trinesome, wall!sex, washrack!sex, whiny Megatron, x-ray (just trust me that it's hot)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:46:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffmonsterc3/pseuds/fluffmonsterc3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a nasty battle back on Cybertron, Starscream spies a brain-dead civilian frame that still has a spark. He comes up with a surprisingly well thought-out plan that will please Megatron and surely put the Autobots down for good! So he overhauls the frame--reprogramming him to be a Decepticon.</p><p>His name is Shadowshock, but when he infiltrates the Autobots with no knowledge of his sleeper Decepticon programming, his name is Jazz.</p><p>The eons go by. Starscream is preoccupied and forgets about Jazz for awhile, just enough time for Jazz to make a home with his Autobot family and even fall in love with Prowl. Then comes the faithful day when Jazz, lounging in berth with his long-time lover Prowl, utters the phrase that Starscream thought no Autobot would ever say... and activates his Decepticon code.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was the very first porn story that I ever wrote, so be gentle with me. There is a whole hell of a lot of porn in here because it is most likely the only Transformers fic that I will ever write, so I wanted to fit in all of my kinks. And boy did I. Don't feel to squicky about the torture part. It's more kinky torture, I guess. The non-con was to be safe. This part will come up in chapter 4, so there's a ways to go on that.
> 
> LET IT BE KNOWN: that I am a child of fandom when it comes to Transformers and thus have no idea what frames go with what generation, so let me just say that there's a mix. I also made Skywarp smaller because I love me some TC/SW and I love size!kink, so that's that then. 
> 
> Enjoy the robot porn! :D

\--  
**  
\--

Standing in the middle of the scrap-metal strewn street of a destroyed Cybertronian city whose name he didn’t bother to log in his processor, Starscream flickered his optics and contemplated whether luck existed.

It was no secret that Starscream is a genius, especially after him reminding every bot to cross his path (either facing his cannons or flying next to him). He just never knew how fraggin _lucky_ Primus made him. There was no other word for it.  
Starscream stared at the common white protoform, scanner programs roving over the motionless mech who had the unlucky privilege of being on the receiving end of one of Starscream’s more genius inventions: a sort of null ray that wiped a mech’s programming clean. He strictly ignored the reminder message that popped up in his HUD, stating that his brilliant ray was a one-hit wonder that overheated and fried its circuits after one shot that blanketed a mostly deserted market. There were no other bots still in one… potentially useful piece. Starscream frowned (not pouted! Seekers do not pout), cursing that pit-spawned minibot Bumblebee for informing special ops coordinator Prowl in time for them to move the Autobots out of the targeted Cybertronian city. But no matter. Starscream smirked. This was much better than killing some Autobot scum.  
He just found himself a mech with a blank processor.

Starscream tilted his helm. Now then, what ever could he do with a blank mech whose spark was still intact? Oh, he did so love being wicked. Reining in the tingling rush of excitement up his backstruts, he knelt and heaved, plating straining with pops and screeches of metal, the white mech over his back and between his wings. Starscream vented, standing with a slight lean forward to where the mech’s feet dragged on the ground as Starscream trudged toward one of the nearby warehouses for upgrades.

“Heavy fragger, aren’t you?” He muttered, adjusting the mech on his back as he clasped the warehouse door handle, kicking warped scraps of metal out of the way with one pede as he heaved the tall door open with a low screech, just enough for him to slip inside. Starscream suppressed a pleasured shiver when the white mech’s arm brushed against his wingtip, adjusting the mech with a slight bump to settle back between his wings. He ignored the initiation of seeker heat programming and sent off a message to his trine to be ready and waiting in their quarters after he got back from the reconnaissance mission. And oh, what a perfectly delicious mission it was turning out to be.

Starscream’s processor whirred with scenarios as he dragged the mech to one of the upgrade berths. Megatron couldn’t dare rough him up for failing to processor-wipe Autobot scum after he found out about his new pet. Starscream smirked, booting up the programming computer and plugging the cables into the white mech’s neck ports. As the Decepticon codes weren’t logged into the computer, Starscream pulled up his basic programming on his HUD, hooking a cable into his own neck port and blocking all pleasure programs from initiating. He vowed to himself to never overload because of a pit-slagged computer like Soundwave. He’s a Seeker, dammit! He has standards.

As the Decepticon programming was encoded into the white mech with a faint buzzing across his frame, Starscream pulled up a blank file for sleeper encryption, compressing it to only be accessible when a specific phrase was vocalized. Having no ideas at the moment for what that might be, Starscream left it blank and finished writing the code, all the while running scenarios on the most satisfying way to inform Megatron of his far superior intellect. Memory files cropped up for reference, and Starscream frowned. He closed them quickly, altering his scenarios and deleting ones that didn’t contain praise of any form. His frown darkened as he was left with just three, and the most optimistic only included Megatron looking vaguely surprised. Frag.

He closed all of the scenario windows and had a thought: What if he _didn’t_ tell Megatron? A slow grin spread across his faceplates. Hmmm. Starscream’s very own spy within Autobot walls. He’d know everything that Megatron wouldn’t. He’d be able to contradict Megatron’s plans and take his rightful place as leader! Starscream’s vocalizer barked static and his chassis shook with mirth. Yes. Oh, that was so much better. The computer screen blipped, displaying Decepticon programming at 89%. Starscream refocused as a ping informed him of the blank phrase missing in his sleeper coding.

He tilted his helm, whispering to the empty warehouse, “What would an Autobot never say?” His vocalizer barked short bursts of static at his first thought. “Megatron is one sexy piece of aft. HA! Right.” 

His optics flickered once. Twice. His shoulderplates twitched, then he filled in the last bit of trigger code. 

The computer blipped, Decepticon programming 96%. 

Starscream fed the compressed sleeper encryption into the rapidly downloading files right before the computer blipped, download complete. Starscream pulled the plug out of his neck port, dismissing the pleasure blockers he had enacted earlier, and leaned over the berth close to the white mech’s helm. He frowned. The frame was bulky, scratched, and smudged with ash. His Seeker programming sent him a ping of protest. No spy of Starscream’s was going to be so bulky and dirty.

Starscream turned, surveying the warehouse. His optics quickly took in the reframing berth a couple modification berths down, and then moved to locate the available frames. The warehouse wasn’t very organized. There were berths for simple alterations, maybe repair, along one end, while there were berths for more heavy modifications along the other wall. Crates full of supplies—frames, parts, cords—were stacked in what appeared to be a haphazard manner to form blocks side-by-side, separating the different types of modification berths. His optics flickered green as he activated an x-ray field, sweeping over the crates quickly—aha! Starscream shut off the field, optics switching back to red, as the Decepticon boosted his thrusters, wings snapping up, to fly over crates to the other side of the warehouse. He landed, quickly ripping off the top of a crate that had captivated his optics and Seeker programming alike.

The frame was a smooth, almost liquidly sleek silver. Not as perfect as a flyer, but downright sexy for a grounder. Starscream’s vocalizer rumbled, wings shuddering. Oh this would do perfectly. Boosting up his thrusters again, Starscream gripped the crate and pushed it, zigzagging around the large blocks of crates with much muttering (“frag” “what pit-spawned glitch put that there?” “fragging!” “SLAG, MY PEDE!”), but eventually he made it to the frame modification berth. Starscream vented hard, arms resting on his hip-plates and system ignoring the inquiring blips from his cooling fans, as his optics trained on the bulky white mech three berths down.

He shook his helm, walking back over to the mech and whispering to himself, “this is worth it, Screamer. A little manual labor is well worth the rewards.” His vocalizer barked a loud pulse of static as he pictured himself sitting regally on Megatron’s throne. “Well well worth it.”

Reaching the computer, which was still hooked up to the white mech’s neck ports, Starscream browsed through the encrypted Decepticon files—all there and set to trigger at the phrase, “Megatron is one sexy piece of aft”. Wings twitching in amusement, he pulled up the personality files hardwired to the mech’s spark.

“Now to give you a name, my pet.”

An optic ridge rose at the personality data. Talkative. Outspoken. Loyal. Energetic. Friendly. Starscream’s helm tilted. Definitely leaning toward Autobot traits. He needed to add something to counter. Starscream added an underlying file for suspicion. Combined with the Decepticon programming activating with the sleeper trigger, it should be enough to undermine any Autobot programs they’d add. Starscream opened up the mech’s designation file.

“Hm. So you were a manual labor bot.” He tapped the mech’s helm with a servo. “If only your sire could see you now: sleeper agent for the Decepticons.” Starscream’s vocalizer barked a short pulse of static. “Now, what would be a suitable name for you… Silverpet? Silvershadow? Seekershadow?” His chassis trembled with glee at his wit. “Shadowblaster? Shadowshock? Hm.” Starscream’s optics shifted slowly over the sleek silver frame still in the crate. “Yes, Shadowshock will do nicely.” He programmed the name designation, closing all files and detaching the cable from his pet’s neck ports.

Starscream vented, huffing impatiently as he tugged the mech onto his back between his wings, walking over to the reframing birth and depositing the bot none too gently onto the metal surface with a clang. He gave in to his cooling fan pings and switched them on. “Slagging heavy fragger.” Starscream vented and patted the mech’s helm. “Oh but you won’t be all bulk for long. Master Starscream will make you brand shiny new, precious pet.” His vocalizer purred.

Unlatching the restraints beside the berth, Starscream strapped them around the mech’s neck, waist, wrists, and pedes, pushing the calibration button to shift the berth upright as a dozen cables wormed out from the floor, tools for heads, and started to remove the blocky white common frame and replace it with sleek silver. Starscream noted the progress with gleaming red optics, chassis circuits sparking and valve clenching at the flaccid yet still sizeable spike. Starscream sent another ping to his trinemates, this time a bit more demanding. He ignored the ping of amusement from Skywarp; instead, his helm tilted as he observed the pulsing spark within its chamber. He sent an inquiry to his databases on the methods of spark control and quickly pulled up a window detailing a locking device commonly used on pleasurebots.

Starscream’s chassis trembled as an electric spark shot up his backstruts and made his wings hitch upward. Peerrrrfect. 

Turning on his x-ray field again, Starscream’s green optics swept the room—bringing up each crate’s contents in his HUD and discarding them when not finding a match. It took all of 30 seconds to find the sparklock. It took half that to retrieve it. Starscream nearly buzzed in anticipation as the last plate was fixed onto the mech’s frame. He was glorious. Still slightly bulky because of the common frames, but pleasing enough to the optics to suit Starscream’s devious plan.

Starscream’s vocalizer rumbled in pleasure, servos caressing the sleek silver chassis of his pet to find the seam, fitting under it neatly and opening it up to bear the spark chamber. The sparklock was simplistic and small—just a magnetic node that quickly latched onto the spark chamber—capable of scrambling any requests by the host to open. Starscream sent a pulse containing his individual spark signature down his arm, through a servo, and into the node, ensuring that only he could open it. He closed the silver chassis and smirked, booting up the mech’s onlining program.

“Welcome to Cybertron, Shadowshock.”

Shadowshock’s optics flickered red, then settled on civilian grey. His helm slowly bowed forward in submission, “Thank you, master.”

Starscream’s vocalizer rumbled. “You please me, pet.” With a single servo, he stroked slowly down that sleek silver chassis. “I want you to do something now.”

With a faint writhe in his restraints, Shadowshock barely held back a static whimper. “Anything, master.”

Leaning forward with one hand spread across the struggling mech’s chassis, Starscream flicked his glossa across the mech’s audials, trembling at the resulting static-filled whine his loyal pet let escape, and whispering, “I want you to look helpless,” right before he roughly plugged his cord into Shadowshock’s neck port and encrypted, buried, and scrambled his reprogramming tracks so deep and so thoroughly into the mech’s neural net that nothing could ever find them.

The resulting overload was a bonus.

\--  
**  
\--

“Prooooooooowwwleerrr,” Jazz whined, pawing at Prowl’s pede from his sprawled position on the floor. He was met with silence and the short blip from a PADD that Prowl was reviewing. Jazz pouted and lightly stroked the plating up Prowl’s leg. “C’mon, mech. I’m so overheated an achin’ for ya I’m about to just ride my own servos!”

“You will do no such action in my office.” Hard blue optics glanced at his sprawled position on the floor. “Why are you so overheated?”

Noting the curiosity in his lover’s tone, Jazz’s vocalizer chuckled and shuttered his optics, one hand caressing his hip plating and slowly slowly slowly moving across to his interface panel, dipping and stroking in his seams and wires, tweaking sensors when he reached his thighs. Jazz gasped, other hand clasping Prowl’s pede, as he stroked over his heated panel. “Mmmmmm Prowl. Swear to Primus I need your spike in my valve every breem.” His hips rocked upward into his hand, still stroking lightly over his hot panel.

“Ah!” He gasped as his spike started to pressurize, pushing against his interface panel with a hot and pulsing throb. Jazz rubbed harder, venting out pants and moans as his servos stroked over the burning hot panel from nearly painful pressured top to quickly leaking bottom. He spread his legs wider as his cooling fans kicked in. “Aaaaaah, Prowler. M’ so wet I bet you wouldn’t even have to stick a single servo in me.”

He was met by another blip from a completed PADD review. Jazz stopped stroking and onlined his optics, tilting his helm to look upward at his—slagging mech spawned from the pit! Jazz frowned, optics narrowing in a harsh glare. Letting go of the solid grip he had on Prowl’s pede, Jazz smacked him with it.

“How can ya STILL be working on those fraggin PADDs when I’m wet and needy over here, Prowler?”

Prowl set aside the PADD he was working on and picked up another. “Jazz, if I were to help you relieve yourself of charge every time you came into my office overheated, then I would never complete any of my duties.”

Jazz pouted, pawing at Prowl’s pede again. “But… but it’s so hot, Prowl! Just one little interface? Real quick. Spike. Valve. In, out, in, out. Overload. Done. See?” Jazz sat up, hand curving up Prowl’s leg to rest on his knee and caress it. He lowered his vocalizer to a soft berthroom tone. “Doncha feel anything when I’m panting and wet on your floor?” He kissed the sensitive bundle of wires behind Prowl’s knee plate, stroking over them teasingly lightly with a servo.

“Doesn’t it make ya just,” he moaned out, “aaaache?” His hot, wet glossa stroked over the wires behind Prowl’s knee, dipping between them and nibbling, blowing hot air from his vents and stroking a hand up and down Prowl’s leg from knee to pede. “Mmmm. C’mon, baby. Just one little overload before the meeting?”

Prowl froze, turning to look down at Jazz, whose optics sparked happily and faceplates grinned. “That got ya?”

“Jaaaazzz.” Prowl nearly hissed. “Did you disable my reminder pings this morning?”

Jazz lowered his helm, servos stroking up and down Prowl’s leg still. “mmmaaayybe.”

“Jazz!” Prowl had a distinct ‘I’m going to hang you by your pedes’ tone he liked to use on the twins.

Jazz vented softly, shoulderplates twitching upward in a shrug. “Yeah, I disabled your reminder pings,” Prowl gaped, “BUT!” he held up a servo, “Only for the meeting cuz it was so close to when I got off shift and could finally see you.”

Prowl turned in his chair, leaning down and grabbing Jazz’s helm delicately between his hands. “Jazz,” he said in a soft tone, “I need you to tell me when that meeting started.”

“Mmm.” Jazz nuzzled his helm against Prowl’s hands, glossa licking at a wrist. “Only a klik ago, my mech.” He was startled to find himself abruptly pulled upright and dragged to the door by an irate Prowl. Jazz whined, “But Prooooowwwwl, interface! Interface comes first. Then meeting that lasts for orn.”

Prowl vented sharply, still pulling a pouting Jazz through the halls and to the meeting room. “We’re second and third, Jazz. It’s a requirement that we attend that meeting. Interface comes second to duty.” He opened the door and was met by amused optics and Optimus cutting off his sentence. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe whispered to themselves and Jazz could’ve sworn he heard someone chirp a whistle. Ignoring the distracted reception, Prowl nodded to their leader and pulled a still pouting Jazz through behind him to their seats close to Prime.

“Prowl, Jazz.” Optimus said, not even hiding his amused tone. “So kind of you to join us.”

Jazz slumped in his chair and kept pouting. Prowl just nodded. “Please continue, Prime. I apologize profusely for our tardiness.” He aimed a sharp glare in Jazz’s direction.

Optimus coughed, but it sounded more like a chuckle. “Yes. Indeed. So, as I was saying. Based on intel gathered from Mirage, the Decepticons are planning another raid on our stores. Mirage? Why don’t you pull up those plans you scanned and we can go through it?”

Mirage nodded and stood, plugging in a memory chip into their projector. “The plan is fairly simple, yet a bit difficult to combat as there are split groups.”

Quickly growing bored, Jazz opened up his private comm. line with Prowl. _“Prowler? This meeting is boring the paint off my plating. When we’re free again, wanna head back to our berth and interface like bunnybots?”_

_“Please do not open a comm. line during a meeting, Jazz. I need to log this information into my processor to accurately run scenario files.”_

Jazz nearly vented a frustrated huff out loud when the comm. line closed. ‘Well of all the rude fraggers floating in orbit. He cut me off!’ Jazz thought to himself, internally smirking. ‘Well if I can’t tell him how bad I need a fragging, I’ll just have to show him.’ He opened up the comm. line again and sent a cropped memory file.

_Jazz arched sharply, gasping loud and long with his helm and chassis against the wall, tip of his dripping spike teasingly brushing against it, hands desperately bracing himself with each hard upward thrust into his leaking valve. “Aaaah! Prowler! So rough, mech. My valve—aah!”_

_He heard Prowl moaning from behind him, gripping his hips, servos pressing into his overheated seams and snapping his own hips forward in a harsh rhythm, in and out, spike pulsing burning hot and stretching out his dripping valve with a series of rapid smacks._

_Prowl shifted backward, pulling his hot spike out to just the tip. “Move back, Jazz.” He panted, “Less vertical. Bend over.”_

_Jazz moaned at the needy tone, shifting backward, whimpering at the feel of wet lube dribbling out of his valve and down his thighs, as he stuck his aft out, elbows bracing against the wall and legs straight but trembling. He vented, panting as Prowl stroked his aft._

_“Is that hah hah what you want, Prowl?”_

_His answer was the servos gripping his hips and impaling his soaking valve with a burning hot spike, pounding at his deepest sensor clusters._

_“Aaaaaaaah!”_

Nearly smirking on the outside, Jazz snuck a glance over to Prowl. And frowned. He looked fine. No fans. No overheating. The fragger was even taking notes! Oh this just wouldn’t do. He sifted through his database for a more kinky—aha!

_Prowl whined, vocalizer breaking off into needy static, hands clenching the edge of his desk tightly, chassis panting harsh from being pressed onto the desk surface, spike throbbing._

_“Jazz. Mmmm. P-please.”_

_He shifted his aft, gasping at the harsh stretch to his valve at the movement._

_“Ah! M-move, Jazz. I need—ah!”_

_Jazz gave his aft a slap, wiggling his servo in Prowl’s tight, tight valve right next to his enveloped spike._

_“Ya like that, Prowler?”_

_He snapped his hips forward, deeper, stabbing at the sensor clusters at the back of his lover’s soaking wet valve while stretching the lip with his servo._

_“AAH! YES!”_

He cut off the comm. line, optics glancing over to Prowl. He had stopped taking notes and was very close to venting. Jazz smirked and coughed lightly. Mirage stopped talking.

“Yes, Jazz? Do you have a question?”

“I do, actually.” He ignored Prowl’s threatening grip on his knee under the table. “You were going on about the Decepticreeps plan with raiding our stores, and I was just wondering—forgive me if you went over this already—but, what are they focusing on stealing, exactly?”

Mirage looked pleasantly surprised. “I haven’t covered that, actually. But if you’re curious,” he pulled up a list. “Here are all of the items that they plan on stealing. Let’s go through them, shall we?”

Jazz smirked at Prowl, who glared back and opened up the comm. line.

_“I hate you.”_

Jazz sent a chuckle. _“Now you know how I feel every time I’m aching and writhing in your office, main machine.”_

_“When we get out of here, I’m going to pound your valve so hard you won’t be able to walk to my office, let alone writhe on the floor.”_

_“That a promise?”_

Prowl closed the line, turning back to the meeting and taking notes. Jazz held back an eager smile.

\--  
**  
\--

“FRAG YES!” Jazz adjusted his grip on Prowl’s chassis and tilted his hips, impaling himself deeper on Prowl’s spike, pulling himself up and bobbing his valve on the tip, sinking down sharply and gasping at the harsh stab of pleasure from his deepest sensory clusters.

“Prowl! hah hah aaaaah yesss, there!” Jazz circled his hips, stretching his valve and rubbing against some of his neglected sensors midway through.

Prowl vented in a harsh rhythm, panting with his cooling fans on and wrists aching at the scratch of the cuffs, gripping the chains harder with his servos at the altering stimulation to his throbbing spike.

“Jazz! Ah, slag.” He snapped his hips upward, dipping more of his sensitive spike into that deliciously wet, heated valve that sucked him in.

Jazz let his helm fall back, gasping at the added pressure.

“AH! PROWL!”

He increased his rhythm, pulling up to midway then slamming down, then staying low, valve clenching at the burning stretch, and bobbing sharp and short at the base of Prowl’s burning hot spike, sending wave after wave of charge-building pleasure.

“F-frag, Prowl,” he gasped, feeling the building charge from helm to pede, making his frame tremble and nearly buzz with the energy. “AAH! I’m gonna—”

Prowl groaned low and long, snapping his hips up to meet Jazz’s frenzied pace, impaling himself over and over on the throbbing spike in his leaking valve.

“I’M… AAAAH!” Jazz overloaded, Prowl not far behind as the soaking wet valve milked his spike, squeezing and releasing in his lover’s overload.

“J-JAAAZZZ!” And his overload shot through him like an electric shock, frame snapping taught and rigid as his transfluid filled Jazz’s clenching valve in hot bursts.

Jazz’s cooling vents kicked into high gear as he gingerly moved off of Prowl’s retracting spike, leaning up and licking his lips with his glossa lovingly before dipping inside. Prowl vented softly, sighing into the slow, lazy kiss, angling his helm and caressing Jazz’s glossa with his own. Jazz pulled back, resting his forehelm on Prowl’s, faceplates grinning.

“That, mah mech, was spark-bursting.”

Prowl met his grin with a lazy smile, saying “It’s always spark-bursting with you, Jazz.” His hands tugged at the cuffs, and Jazz chuckled.

“I dunno. Kinda like you tied up.”

Prowl rattled them more insistently and nipped at Jazz’s audials, murmuring, “I like it too, tenderspark, but right now I want to hold you.”

Jazz’s grin melted into a soft smile as he whispered, “That’s a good reason,” and unlocked the cuffs. Prowl’s arms settled around his love’s frame, Jazz’s helm tucked under his chin and resting on his chassis. Prowl stroked a servo lightly up his backstruts, up and down, venting softly as his cooling fans gradually quieted to a hum.

“Hey, Prowler?” Jazz asked, optics dimmed as his recharge cycle began to boot up.

“hm?”

“You ever wonder what types of things Mirage sees inside the Nemesis that he doesn’t report on?”

“Like what, Jazz?” Prowl asked obligingly, still stroking Jazz’s backstruts lightly, feeling warm and content.

“Like who frags who and against which wall.”

Prowl’s fingers stilled and his vents hitched, barely noticing Jazz’s shaking shoulderplates from restrained laughter. He lightly smacked Jazz upside the helm.

“Ow! What was that for?” Jazz pouted, snuggling into Prowl’s neck. “Jus’ making an observation.”

“An unwarranted observation. That’s disgusting, Jazz. My neural net is completely ruined now.”

Jazz chuckled against Prowl’s chassis. “I dunno, it’d be amusing to see someone giving it to ole Megsy.”

Prowl’s processor nearly shorted out. He barely managed to sputter, “Jazz!” Before his scenario protocols picked up the curiosity and ran with it. He grabbed his helm in mortification. “NO! Jazz, you scrapping made my protocols run likely scenarios.”

Jazz perked up, slipping an arm onto Prowl’s chassis and propping his chin on top to gaze hopefully at Prowl. “So?”

Prowl vented hard, sighing in exasperation. “I don’t want to evaluate them, Jazz.”

“Oh, c’mon, mech! Where’s your adventure file? Out with it!”

Prowl shuttered his optics and let his arms fall around his mischievous lover again, regretting the word as soon as it started to form, “Soundwave."

Jazz’s vocalizer barked out a sharp bleat of pure static glee.

“Oh that’s some rich, rich energon right there. HA! Soundwave takin’ it to ole Megs. Betcha that throne isn’t just for sitting.”

“I’m powering off my audials now,” Prowl whined.

Jazz petted Prowl’s helm, “Aww. No, it’s okay, Prowler. I’ll stop now. Promise.” He waited three nanokliks before releasing snickering static. “I can picture it now.”

Prowl groaned.

“The Decepticreeps are all in a meeting, talking over a comm. line like any respectable mech does, making a ranking of how fraggable they all are.”

Prowl whimpered.

Jazz just petted his helm with a shush, “It’s storytime, Prowl, don’t interrupt. So then Soundwave goes, ‘Isn’t Megatron one sexy piece of aft’? HA!”

Click. Shift. RUSH. Code burst through his neural net, bleeding red into blue files, overriding Autobot with Decepticon. Flashes of memory awaken within his spark.

_“Welcome to Cybertron, Shadowshock.”_

And blue optics flickered to red.

\--  
**  
\--


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadowshock has an internal battle. Oh and like 90% robot sex.

**

Within the Nemesis, morale was high due to the eagerly awaited store-raid plan approaching its application date. Over the past five days, Rumble and Frenzy were pulling vicious pranks almost as vivaciously as the Lambo twins, the trine had yet to emerge from their quarters, a majority of Decepticons were placing bets on which Autobots they could kill (as well as which ones they wouldn’t mind fragging instead of fighting; so far it was a tie between Mirage and Wheeljack, although Hook had made a particularly charge-building case for Ironhide and his cannons), and Megatron had been sequestered in his quarters, only heard from via intercom announcements regarding duties. It did not escape any Decepticons’ notice that Soundwave was also absent. The Eradicons were prone to random bursts of snickering static.

A mutual amusement radiated from Skywarp as the mech watched Starscream’s valve get drilled by Thundercracker, both from the screaming and from the neediness that had gripped his fellow Seeker over the past couple days. Screamer was not above propositioning them, but he had certainly never started by waking them up with overheated servos and eager glossa to both of their interface panels. It wasn’t even Starscream’s heat cycle, for pit’s sake! It made him curious as to what started it, but, unfortunately, his processor couldn’t puzzle it out due to the overwhelmingly distracting picture in front of his optics.

Starscream was bent nearly double, back arched into the berth, wings trembling against it, pedes in the air and hands desperately clutching behind his knee plates to where they nearly touched his helm with every agonizingly slow, deep thrust as Thundercracker sank into his soaking wet valve with a stretching burn.

“Aa-AAH! TC,” Starscream panted, thrashing his head to one side and gritting his denta, holding back a scream as Thundercracker snapped his hips forward at the end of a slow thrust, stabbing at the sensory clusters at the very, very back of his valve so hard and so fast he teetered on the edge of an overload at the hot and heady wave of pleasure.

“OOH! YES! AAH!”

Starscream’s servos clutched desperately behind his knees, digging into his own overheated cables and venting harsh pants, cooling fans kicking into their highest setting as Thundercracker trembled and let out a static-filled grunt, vocalizer releasing his rumbling voice while he simultaneous kept up the slow, burning pace punctuated by a sharp thrust to clang his hip plating against Starscream’s aft.

“So needy, Screamer.” TC moaned, repeating the motion twice (“oh hah hah AAAAAH! Primus, HARDER”) shifting his grip on Starscream’s hips to the crease where they bent, sharpening the angle and sliding his thick spike in and out of that soaking valve in a series of quick thrusts like a piston.

Starscream’s mouth gaped in a silent scream, helm tilting back to expose sensitive neck cables as he writhed, servos trembling behind his own knees and wings practically vibrating.

Skywarp grinned lecherously, optics trained on where Starscream’s glistening valve eagerly swallowed up Thundercracker’s thick spike with every quick, quick, quick, slow, slow thrust.

His glossa flicked slowly over his lips as his audials picked up every panting vent and moan and “PRIMUS yes!!” punctuated by the rhythmic, wet squelching and occasional clanging when TC slammed deep.

He couldn’t just watch anymore.

Skywarp panted hard, feeling the delicious burn of his spike throbbing in painful pressure against his closed interface panel, valve clenching in spasms it was so wet and greedy. He quickly snicked open his panel, spike popping out into the open air with a tingling rush.

“OH! Haaah aah yes.”

Skywarp leaned back on the head of the berth, optics and audials still trained on his trinemates now frantic pace and Starscream proving his nickname he was screaming so loud, as two servos plunged into his greedy valve, other hand gripping and pulling hard at his leaking spike.

“PIT SUCKING SLAG hah hah frag fr-AAG AAAAH!” Starscream’s vocalizer sputtered into a static whine as TC pounded into his valve, venting rapid pants as a tingling charge surged through his cables, his arms shuddering from holding his knees for so long.

“TC hah AAAh I need—” but he was interrupted as Thundercracker abruptly pulled out with a wet pop, gripping his hips harshly and flipping him over onto his knee plates—Starscream’s hands clutched desperately at the berth, helm tilting sideways—just barely before Thundercracker quickly sank back into that velvet heat with a punishingly slamming thrust that stabbed into and past his deepest sensory clusters until they were nearly flattened. It felt like he stuck a bomb up his valve.

“FRRAAAG! aaah YES!”

Starscream’s vocalizer nearly shorted out, his frame shuddering harshly at the surges of electricity snapping and sparking through him in heady waves. He panted, “I’m going to—” before his mouth was occupied by a smaller spike rapidly leaking lubricant that he immediately started sucking.

Distantly he heard Skywarp moan in a slowly pulsing overload, as more of his attention was focused on TC’s rapid, short thrusts that were so deep their frames clanged as hip plating met trembling aft. Then he felt TC slam home once more before releasing burning bursts of transfluid, groaning hard with hips rocking. Starscream moaned as Skywarp’s overload started to taper off, sucking up and swallowing the sweat transfluid from both ends. The warm rush of liquid and pleasure-bursting pressure in his valve did the trick.

Starscream overloaded hard—groaning long and low around Skywarp’s spike, frame trembling in full-body shudders, wings snapping taut—as electricity surged, pulsing and burning hot across his whole frame from helm to pede—gaining a higher pitch as TC wrapped a warm hand around his transfluid-spitting spike, milking him slowly as his hips rocked into the hand, charge powering down while his cooling fans worked overtime.

Starscream released Skywarp’s retracting spike, resting his helm on the smaller flyer’s thigh as he vented hard, still trembling every now and again as TC finally lowered his hips to rest on the berth. Starscream moaned appreciatively, venting a sigh as Thundercracker’s glossa lazily lapped up the transfluid leaking out of his valve and across his thighs. Skywarp’s hand stroked equally lazily across his helm, radiating warmth, before TC closed his panel, sliding up and nuzzling his helm into Skywarp’s side, slinging an arm across Starscream’s back like he liked.

“You think we need to get out of the berth sometime?” TC rumbled quietly.

Processor fighting weakly at his recharge protocols trying to initiate, Starscream mumbled, “Shut the frag up,” before giving in and slipping rapidly into recharge.

Skywarp chirped in amusement, other arm resting on Thundercracker’s shoulderplates and servos stroking up and down one side.

He whispered, “He’s been so hot lately,” before tilting his helm downward to look TC in the optics, “thanks for fragging him so hard, TC. I know it drains you.”

Thundercracker’s faceplates smirked, glossa softly licking a warm seam in Skywarp’s side before his vocalizer whispered back, “You don’t seem so concerned for it draining me when it’s _your_ valve I’m pounding.”

Skywarp vented sharply in irritation, but Thundercracker grinned internally at the hiccup in his trinemate’s cooling fans trying to prevent another rush of heat.

“Now you just stop that thought, TC.” Skywarp nearly whined. “We’ve been at this for days and I feel like I haven’t slept in vorn.”

Thundercracker’s vocalizer chuckled static lowly. “We only just woke up from recharge this morning.”

“Yes, and now it’s recharge time again. Initiate your protocols or I’ll do it for you.”

TC sent a wave of love/contentment/warmth/comfort through their bond as he started up his recharge cycle, barely able to register a similar wave being sent back (albeit with a hint of fond irritation) before he fell into deep, deep recharge.

Somewhere in Starscream’s HUD, an awareness ping waited for the recharge cycle to end. It was labeled “Starscream’s Brilliant Plan” and contained a status of “pet is active” with an inquiry, _://Initiate ping ‘get-back-to-your-master-right-now’?_  
Unfortunately, this ping would have to wait awhile as a whole day of interfacing wiped out Starscream quite thoroughly.

**

Jazz—no, Shadowshock—barely recharged at all. His processor was making his spark ache, sorting through his memory banks and categorizing files that would be useful to his master. To his spark, it was like his neural net was being violated; only it was worse because he was the one doing the violating.

All of his memories that he had stored prominently—the first time Prowl said he loved him, that he wanted to spark bond, the subsequent hurt and healing at finding out he couldn’t because Jazz’s sparkchamber was locked, the love and care in their first interfacing, the comforting rush at the trust displayed in kinkier interfacing, the times that they had saved each other’s afts on the battlefield—all of these beautiful memories were pushed into a subfolder marked ‘Jazz’ that was stored less prominently than ‘Battle Plans’, ‘Base Layout and Location’, ‘Autobots and Their Weaknesses’, and others that made his tank want to purge.

Or was that just nervous excitement at the thought of reuniting with his master?

Shadowshock’s red optics gazed at the wall, helm softly vibrating from where it rested on the other mech’s chassis at each rhythmic, processor-cooling vent his berthmate, Prowl, emitted during deep recharge. His optics flickered.

Why didn’t he want to move and go to his master? Why did his spark dance in comfort at being held like this? His Decepticon programming cringed away from the embrace, pulling up files listing all the ways that he was vulnerable in this position, but he just couldn’t shake that warmth from his spark.

It felt right.

He resisted the urge to shake his helm, risking his berthmate waking up, and simply vented sharply. Shadowshock was a good pet. He was programmed right by his master, and he should only repay his master by behaving like it. This mech, this Prowl—he was a distraction. He needed to get out of this berth and away from these cradling arms that made his spark dance and processor nearly contemplate defecting from the Decepticon cause.

Utilizing the sneaky skills filed and trained into his processor by the very faction he planned on betraying, Shadowshock slowly moved the black arms off his frame, sitting up and quietly stepping his pedes onto the floor before setting down the arms, still crossed, onto the mech’s own frame.

As he stood there looking down at the black and white mech, Shadowshock felt his spark ache, not wanting to say goodbye and never see its lover again outside the battlefield. His hand covered his chassis right above his sparkchamber, faceplates cringing and processor whirring with disgust at the sentimentality. Decepticons don’t love, his processor told him. Decepticons have their duty—to serve Megatron and restore Cybertron to its original glory after terminating Autobot scum. But his spark told him otherwise.

Shadowshock let his hand drop back down to his side, exhausted by the mental gymnastics whirring through his neural net. He needed to wash. Maybe after erasing the proof of interface he’d feel better about his spark’s love for that mech. He turned and walked silently to the door that whooshed open in likewise quietness. Shadowshock didn’t spare a glance behind him as he stepped out the door, optics now a misleading blue.

**

Thankfully the washracks were completely empty. He had passed by several mechs in the hallway, but they were repressing their recharge programs as their optics were dimming and flickering in an obvious way, and were satisfied with just a friendly wave. After his processor pulled up memories of his master Starscream with a pleased fondness, Shadowshock actually appeared legitimately happy while passing an exhausted Ratchet and a smug looking Wheeljack. He didn’t even have to wave at the muttering scientist, Perceptor, as he was deep in thought, eyes locked on a PADD, right before he made it to the empty washracks and stepped through the door.

Keeping his optics set on blue in case Red Alert was watching, Shadowshock walked over to the nearest showerhead, turning on the nozzle and venting a contented sigh at the soothingly hot stream of water plinking off and sliding down his silver plating. Oh, this was what he needed—this cleansing of his frame could be metaphorically equated to the washing away of his Autobot deception and joining where he truly belonged: right next to his master Starscream.

The thought of his master, that gleaming red-lined chassis and silver servos that stroked so softly, awakened that need in him again. He needed to overload, and he didn’t care whether or not Red Alert was watching. Barely feeling the light buzz of charge humming through his cables, he shuttered his optics, trailing his own bulkier silver servo as softly as he could down his chassis and imagining it to be slimmer. Shadowshock felt the tingling charge rush and build with every stroke to the warming seams across his chassis, moaning as his spike started to pressurize and valve started to lubricate.

Starscream had such a warm glossa. Shadowshock’s Decepticon programming pulled up the memory file of that teasing, wet glossa flicking around his audials, sending another charge pulse through his cables and straight to his spike now pressing painfully against his interface panel. Shadowshock popped it open, “Oh haaaah”, nearly trembling at the feeling of hot water massaging his sensitive spike in sharp bursts then sliding down to drip off the tip like transfluid.

He moaned, leaning forward and resting his forehelm against the wall, one hand teasingly stroking a descending path down his chassis and the other bracing against the wall beside his helm. His servos reached his hip plating, dipping and stroking into his warm cables, causing him to vent a steady stream of pants, spike fully pressurized and throbbing with each charge burst.

Shadowshock held back a whimper, reaching under his spike and running a single servo from base to tip, building up a snapping charge through his trembling chassis. He imagined it was Starscream’s slender silver servo, stroking up and down and around the tip of his burning hot spike.

“Aaaah, please—” Shadowshock whimpered, shifting his hips and needing more. He imagined Starscream chuckling darkly, and moved his hand from his spike to his aft, sliding his hand down and between the heated plating to his leaking valve.

“AH! Slag,” he growled, impaling himself on two thick servos, picturing Starscream getting impatient. He pumped his servos in and out, relishing the stretching burn, rolling his aft back onto his hand and arching his back.

“OOH hah hah aaah c’mon,” he moaned, panting and building the hot charge that was snapping across his frame through his taut cables—but it wasn’t quite enough. Shadowshock wiggled his servos in his soaking wet valve, scissoring them and stretching the tight walls, brushing against sensory clusters he hadn’t stroked yet that shot bursts of tingling charge in pulsing waves. He still needed more.  
Shadowshock pumped faster, impaling himself on his servos, trying to hit the collection of sensory clusters at the back of his valve.

“Ah hah hah aaaah c’mon, please please please,” he whimpered, imaginary Starscream forgotten as he just chased his overload.  
Then hot hands touched his silver frame, one on his trembling aft and the other on his hip plating.

Decepticon programming, plus a little suspicion file, had him pulling his transfluid-slick servos out of his sore valve and spinning his frame around, back to the wall, in four nanokliks. Shadowshock’s misleading blue optics flickered in surprise, chassis still trembling and still panting through his vents at the charge build-up, staring at the black and white mech he had been trying to forget about.

“Prowl,” his vocalizer whispered, almost a full static burst like a needy whine—which his processor abruptly bristled against (he’s an Autobot!), but his spark pulsed in its chamber, aching and happy to see its lover again.

The Autobot stepped forward through the spray, water plinking off and sliding down his black and white plating, until both of their chassis touched, resting his hot hand on Shadowshock’s side and the other cupped his helm, venting a soft sigh as his blue optics dimmed and then lightened in amusement.

Shadowshock felt his frame rebelliously relax into the hold, nearly venting a sigh as P—the Autobot chuckled, chassis rubbing warmly against his own, and vocalized softly, “You could have pinged me, you know.”

Thankfully Shadowshock didn’t have to come up with an answer, because then the Autobot was kissing him—soft and slow, lip-plates gliding gently across his teasingly before a warm and wet glossa swiped across his bottom lip-plate, lightly probing.

Shadowshock couldn’t help but vent a sigh, optics shuttering, as he let his lip-plates part, welcoming in the warm glossa that soothingly caressed his own. He couldn’t help but notice the flooding rush of warmth across his entire frame from his spark, and his processor decided to analyze that later since he was still charged. It was building up again.

Wrapping his arms around Prowl’s neck and shoulders, Shadowshock groaned at the deepening kiss, bracing his aft on the wall and lifting his legs to wrap around Prowl’s waist, pedes hooking across each other. Prowl deepened the kiss, tilting his helm and sealing his lip-plates over Shadowshock’s as his glossa rubbed roughly against the other, flicking the tip and then running it broadly across in a soothing caress. Then Shadowshock broke away, venting harsh pants as his forehelm rested against Prowl’s.

He panted out, “Need you. Now,” before insistently rubbing his hot and leaking spike against Prowl’s warm interface panel.  
Prowl gritted his denta, shuttering his optics as a shudder wracked his frame at a heady wave of charge that made his helm drop to rest on a silver shoulderplate, and groaned, hands sliding down Shadowshock’s hot frame and gripping his aft before whispering into audials, “Anything for you, Jazz.”

Shadowshock’s spark gave a throb, ecstatic yet pained. His processor had no time to analyze this puzzling emotion before Shadowshock was distracted by the sound of Prowl’s interface panel snicking open and the feel of a hot spike sliding under his own and rubbing against his dripping valve. Legs tightening around Prowl’s waist, Shadowshock rolled his hips, gasping and letting his helm fall back to rest on the wall at the sparking shock that ripped through his frame as Prowl’s hard spike ground against the outer sensory nodes at the lip of his valve.

“AH!” He whimpered, “P-Prowler,” as he gripped Prowl’s shoulderplates, digging his servos into hot cables.

Prowl groaned against Shadowshock’s neck cables, rolling his hips to match the pace—rolling up when he rolled down, adding extra pressure to the almost lazy slide of spike against valve, coating his whole spike in Shadowshock’s lubricant from throbbing base to tip and aching to sink into that wet heat, yet hesitant to give up the soft stimulation to the sensors along his spike.

Shadowshock trembled, wave after wave of heady charge building and rushing with every roll of his hips to match Prowl’s, his spike sending out pulsing tingles and aches as its sensors were rubbed and squeezed between their moving frames.

“Ooooh, Prowler. Ng. N-need you. Ah! In me. Now.”

Prowl moaned at the whimpering tone, trailing his glossa along Shadowshock’s neck cables, denta nibbling, as his hands tightened around that silver aft, lifting and tilting, before pushing the very tip of his spike into that achingly hot, wet valve that immediately tried to suck him in, giving him a tight squeeze.

“Mmmm. Aaaah yes.” Shadowshock panted, hips struggling to roll down and sink that wonderful spike all the way into his needy valve in one thrust, but was met with resistance in the form of Prowl’s hands gripping his hips stationary. He attempted an impatient wiggle, venting a huffing pant as his valve got used to the very tip of the spike and stopped pulsing.

“Prooowwwl,” he whined, servos digging into Prowl’s cables just under his shoulderplates, “C’mon. I’m soooo charged. Ple—”

Then Prowl slowly rolled his hips forward, inching his hot spike further and stretching out Shadowshock’s sore valve in a slow, tingling burn.

“Oooooh ah aaah, P-Prowl,” Shadowshock moaned, helm tilting to invite Prowl’s mouth back to his neck cables, which Prowl took and starting sucking and licking teasingly slow as his spike sunk deeper into Shadowshock’s greedy valve.

Prowl’s spike stopped midway, and he started to slowly rock his hips back and forth in a lazy roll, stimulating Shadowshock’s sensor nodes along the front half of his valve with steady, tingling shocks across his frame.

“Mmmm. Hah aaaaaaah yess.” Shadowshock panted, chassis trembling and spark dancing in its chamber at the sweet lovemaking. His valve leaked, lubrication dripping down his thighs and Prowl’s spike to mix with the warm water plinking off their steadily overheating frames, all the while Prowl kept up his slow and steady rhythm, in and then out, rubbing his lover’s sensory nodes back and forth to build up an aching burn through Shadowshock’s whole valve. He’s never been this wet before since being onlined.

“Ah!” He gasped sharply at the sudden bite. Prowl’s glossa laved over the cable where his denta had nipped, retaining the pace but sinking just a tiny bit deeper—just enough to stretch Shadowshock’s soaking wet valve a bit further.

“Ooooooh. Aaah, _Prowler_.”

Shadowshock onlined his optics (how long ago did he shutter them?), and was surprised to see that the water was starting to steam as it hit their overheated plating, coating the washracks with a foggy mist.

He gripped Prowl’s shoulderplates tighter, pulsing his valve in a tightening squeeze. Prowl’s rhythm stopped as he groaned lowly, lips around Shadowshock’s neck cables sending vibrations that went straight to his painfully throbbing spike wedged between their hot frames. Shadowshock immediately shifted his hips, struggling for his valve to swallow more of Prowl’s teasing spike—he could only move them from side to side, as Prowl’s hands were still gripping his hips stationary, but he made use of the possible movement.  
Groaning deep within his chassis with a tremor, Shadowshock circled his hips from side to side.

“Oh PRIMUS yes.”

The movement tilted his valve to squeeze and rub Prowl’s spike against every sensory node in the first half of his valve, sometimes pressing so hard that the node nearly went numb from the tingling bursts of pleasure.

Prowl moaned appreciatively, spike regaining it’s rhythmic movement slowly out to the tip and slowly back in to the middle of his valve, but then thrust short and sharp, just a little bit deeper (“AAH!”), before Prowl’s rolled his hips back, sliding his spike slowly from Shadowshock’s needy valve.

Shadowshock groaned at the slow torture, frame now wracking with full-body shudders every time Prowl’s burning hot spike rubbed over his sensitized nodes.

“P-Prowl,” he whimpered, gasping at the harsh, stretching burn as Prowl’s spike sank back in slowly, then thrust sharply deeper, just past halfway, before slowly sliding back out to the tip.

Shadowshock’s outer nodes around his valve lip tingled pulsing throbs with the constant stimulation from the hot spike rubbing and sliding, building up his charge like nothing else, sending wave after wave of pure pleasure surging through his frame from helm to pede. He circled his hips slowly once, then fast. But it wasn’t enough yet.

“C’mon, Prowl,” he whimpered, circling his hips minutely as Prowl kept up his slowly out, slowly in, tingling stretching pleasure-bursting fast thrust, then out again pace. “You’re makin me OOooh lose my processor hah aaaaah, c’mon!” Shadowshock panted. He was losing his patience. “SPIKE ME!”

Then Prowl obliged.

Shadowshock only had the tightening grip of servos around his aft as a warning before Prowl slammed his hips forward, impaling his spike the rest of the way and stabbing the searing hot tip of his spike against the extremely sensitive clusters at the very, very back of Shadowshock’s valve.

“OOH AAAH! PRIMUS yeeeeeeEEEESS!” Shadowshock screamed, vocalizer almost shorting out as his frame arched off the washrack wall, nearly convulsing at the overload bursting through his frame, circuits searing with the tingling shocks racing through his cables. Distantly he heard Prowl groan loud and long against his neck cables, hips lazily pumping his transfluid-shooting spike in stuttering rhythm into Shadowshock’s squeezing valve.

Both of them vented harsh pants as their massive overloads tapered off, cooling fans whirring loudly and adding to the sound of the still-running water.

Shadowshock onlined his optics again (had he shuttered them?), arms sliding down Prowl’s back and shoulders to rest against his forearms, frame still trembling every once and awhile.

Prowl raised his helm from where he had been resting it against Shadowshock’s chassis, hands sliding in a soft caress from his aft to both of his outer thighs, hooking gently behind his kneeplates and pulling his legs down from where they were hitched up on Prowl’s waist. Shadowshock groaned as his pedes touched the floor, the movement angling his valve to where Prowl’s now retracting spike slid out, viscous fluid from combined transfluid and excess lubricant following it and dribbling down his thighs to be washed away by the now cold water into the drain.

He continued to vent out pants, arms clutching at Prowl’s forearms as his misleadingly blue optics were locked with the black and white mech’s smiling ones. Without moving his optics, Prowl gently closed both of their interface panels and turned off the shower, pressing them together pede to hip to chassis, and angling his helm, lip-plates smiling contentedly.

“Love you, tenderspark,” he whispered, right before sealing his lips slowly over Shadowshock’s, unknowing of the violent conflict going on inside the silver mech’s neural net.

Shadowshock’s processor vied for the Decepticon cause. _It was noble. It was just. It was right. Cybertron must be restored and I must aid master Starscream to this aim. I was nothing before master. I would not be here if it were not for master._

But his spark protested otherwise. **Love is right. Love is here. We have love in Prowl that we will never find anywhere else. He is our bonded.**

_Decepticons need no love. Decepticons need only duty and honor and sacrifice for the cause. My spark belongs to master Starscream, and him alone. I will show you. He will call. He will call his pet and we will show you to whom our spark belongs._

But it wasn’t even morning yet. And Starscream was still in recharge, unable to view the awaiting ping that his pet was activated.  
So Shadowshock was stuck. With Prowl. Lips massaging, glossa caressing, spark dancing. And, as the two eventually made their way back to the berth, holding each other tight as they slipped into recharge, he couldn’t say for a fact that he was upset about it.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even with Decepticon programming, Jazz still can't quit Prowl. :') I thought about naming this chapter "True Wuv" but just left it blank.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schmoopy fluff. blah blah. Battle. blah blah. Starscream is a sneaky bastard. blah blah. Angst. blah blah. Happiness? blah blah. Not subtle hints towards author's OTPs. blah blah. Lead-in to future porn next chapter. :D

\--  
**  
\--

Shadowshock allowed himself a little recharge, just enough to prevent his systems from going into stasis lock, and then woke up, optics still shuttered, in order to run through how he would return to his master Starscream. His spark gave a pained pulse in protest, but his processor, now used to the illogical response, ignored it.

Then a ping reached his processor. He didn’t recognize the encoded signature. Shadowshock opened it, readying blockers to go into effect in case it was a silly virus from the twins.

_My pet._

Shadowshock’s optics widened, his processor dropping the blockers and whirring in excitement. 

_I trust that I have given you sufficient time to gather invaluable Autobot information that shall aid your master greatly. I have a plan, pet. We are planning a store raid this very orn. Make your way to the roof. My Trine will take you from there._ (Starscream’s voice dropped low into a purr) _Here’s something to tide you over, my pet._

And Shadowshock’s mouth gaped in a silent scream as his processor curiously opened the attached file, which contained a burst of electricity that went straight to his spark, right through the chamber. He overloaded immediately. Unable to suppress his panting vents, Shadowshock brought up a shaky hand to rest on his chassis. His spark really was too sensitive, although it made sense, as his spark had never been touched.

His audials picked up the sound of whirring and slow sighing vents as the mech behind him onlined, black plated arms tightening slightly from where they were holding him. Shadowshock flickered his optics back on.

“Morning,” Prowl rumbled in his audial, nuzzling his neck cables.

Shadowshock felt conflicted. He wanted to see his master Starscream very badly. So badly, in fact, that his spark was even siding with his processor, albeit somewhat tentatively so long as it could be pulsed again. It was the arms, he decided. It was the arms and the warm frame behind him making him feel safe that made him not want to move.

He shuttered his optics again and groaned, shifting and nudging and scooting to turn his silver frame around and down to where he rested his helm against Prowl’s chassis and under his chin plate, arms firmly around the other mech’s waist. He felt the vibrations as Prowl chuckled, servos lazily stroking up and down his backstruts. Shadowshock felt so relaxed, even with the transfluid trapped in his valve by his closed interface panel, that his recharge program slowly started to cycle on again.

Prowl chuckled again, arm pulling back from around Shadowshock’s body as he tilted the silver mech’s helm towards his with a servo.

“Wake up, Jazz,” he whispered, kissing Shadowshock’s lip plates lightly. “We need to go ahead and intake some energon before preparing for the store-raid today.”

Shadowshock onlined his misleadingly blue optics, unable to stop the pout from forming. He did hold back the whine.

“You’re right. I am a bit hungry, to be honest.” Venting in a sharp sigh, Shadowshock unwrapped his arms from Prowl’s waist. The Autobot’s waist, his processor reminded. Turning and placing his pedes on the floor, Shadowshock rubbed at his optic ridges due to a tension caused by the rush of Decepticon protocols as his files booted up—all of the ones he was to report to master Starscream, his memories of the Seeker and his sleek frame, the instructions that arrived via ping that morning, and others that floated dormant in his HUD until they were activated.  
Discreetly, Shadowshock stored the memory of his last interfaces with Pr-The Autobot into his Jazz folder, pulling up a numbing block for whenever his spark would ache. No distractions.

As he watched the Autobot rise beside him while he sat on the berth, lip plates kissing his helm once more before moving to their storage cabinet and lubricating his stiff joints, Shadowshock encrypted his Jazz file. His master had no need to see it.

Now he just had to get to the roof. After some energon from the main room, of course. He shifted uncomfortably, the trapped transfluid from his secret overload pressed insistently against his panel like he needed to purge. Energon and then maybe a quick wash.

\--  
**  
\--

The battle started off structured. So that was something.

Megatron had divided the Decepticons into teams: the Eradicons were at the forefront, loud and distracting, while Soundwave and his minions tried to circumvent the skirmish undetected in order to disable the Ark’s defense system. Due to Mirage’s infiltration and subsequent Autobot preparation, they weren’t having much luck.

The Lambo twins, armed with particularly phallic-looking explosives they stole from Wheeljack, were right in the sneaky Decepticons’ faces, transforming easily between speedy cars and jumping, weaving mechs to avoid Soundwave’s cord-like arms in order to accurately lob explosives at his annoyingly evasive cassettes, who were giggling and clicking madly. At least some bots were having fun.

Well, until Sunstreaker got impatient and slammed an optic-cracking punch into Laserbeak’s face. Then it pretty much became a biting, scratching, metal-melting pile of cassettes-on-Sunstreaker. Soundwave nearly vented a sigh at the childishness, watching Sideswipe quickly jump in to save his brother from getting rewired, and continued on. He had a job to do.

The Seeker trine acted as cover for Soundwave and circled the sky, firing at any and all Autobots within range. Skywarp had to quickly fall into a loop as a blast from Ironhide’s cannon misfired in his direction from the ground where the weapon’s specialist was taking on Eradicon after Eradicon with Bumblebee as his backup and Prowl being distracted by fighting Barricade.

Starscream was looking far ahead—estimating to vague location where he knew the roof would appear once Soundwave disabled their defense systems. An eager flare of electricity buzzed through his systems. Oh, but he would have his pet once more.

 _Now is not the time to be distracted, Screamer._ Thundercracker said over their private comm. line, shooting a feeling of chiding irritation over their bond.

Starscream veered sharply before righting himself—the flyer’s equivalent of being abruptly startled from reviewing thoughts in his processor and pretending to shake it off.

Skywarp’s frame trembled as his engines puttered, as close to a derisive laugh as a jet could make. Starscream ignored it, refocusing his attention on covering Soundwave’s slow aft and altering their course enough to where the grounders couldn’t tell what they were doing. Why did it have to take so much slagging work? All he wanted was to get his pet so he could take him back to the Nemesis, download all of the information he had, and knock Megatron off of that glorious throne where only his gorgeous Seeker aft belonged. With his pet at his side, kneeling at his feet. Maybe licking his pedes. And a collar! Got to have a collar. Hmm… one of those electric ones Hook started using to hold injured mechs down, maybe add extra to make a leash. Oh, yes.

 _Screeeaaammeeer,_ Skywarp chided inside their private comm. _You’re doing it again. What’s got you so distracted?_

Starscream sent the equivalent of a snort in response and sped up. Thundercracker and Skywarp both pinged each other a reminder to drill him about it later. Maybe literally after they talked.

Shadowshock was on the roof with Mirage. Originally, he was going to be kicking Decepticon aft on the frontline with Prowl, Ironhide, Bumblebee, Wheeljack and Perceptor (armed with explosives), and some of the drones; while serving as backup to help protect Ratchet while he removed injured mechs from the battle, but Skyfire, ever the knowing transport shuttle, supported Optimus when the Prime said he’d prefer to protect Ratchet himself.

Shadowshock had raised an optic ridge at the no-nonsense tone, almost wondering what happened since the meeting as Ratchet was a stuttering, sputtering mess at the Prime’s declaration, but was more than happy to oblige, stating that he would like to be with Mirage on the roof to prevent Soundwave from infiltrating their defense system.

Red Alert was more than prepared to combat any infiltration, so Mirage’s job was to be invisible and warn him when Soundwave was going to hook up. Shadowshock would serve as a distraction, maybe get rid of some cassettes if they were in a fighting mood, act like a scout that had spotted Soundwave and to take a couple shots before somehow faking being sent into stassis lock. It was a fast, rusty plan, but Mirage preferred to remain conscious at all times, so he was grateful.

The Decepticons planned to have Soundwave override the defenses, so Skywarp could slip in and take as much energon as he could back to the Nemesis while everyone else was distracted.

The Autobots planned to make it look like the Decepticons got close to achieving that goal before Soundwave would fall into stassis lock at a virus Red Alert would leak into his system, making the Decepticons’ plan useless and ending the battle.

No one’s plan was executed quite exactly as they had hoped.

Soundwave did make it to the side of the Autobot base, and he did start to infiltrate the defense system. Mirage, not noticing that Jazz wasn’t shooting at the mech because he’d always had a fascination with the Decepticon’s many cord-like protrusions, focused on telling Red Alert that Soundwave was about to plug in. Red Alert then enacted his virus protocol.

Skywarp did swoop down, setting the initiation of his transformation programs to kick in right before he would hit the wall, so he’d come in at a rapid run. Then Soundwave fritzed into stassis lock. Skywarp, thinking quickly, killed his thrusters, transforming and landing on the ground with a harsh thud, wrapping a hand around the downed mech before warping them both back to the Nemesis, already cringing at the inevitable tantrums Megatron would make.

He sent a quick ping to his trinemates to meet them back at base as he left Soundwave’s recharging frame in his own berth, walking leisurely back to the berth he shared with his trinemates, half hoping that the virus that sent Soundwave into stassis wouldn’t take to long to wear off. Megatron would be even more pissed.

Back on the battlefield, everything slowed down for Shadowshock as his optics, frantically searching the sky, and finally saw his master—a mere grey and red dot, but it was him nonetheless. His processor whirred in excitement, sending a tingling volt down his backstruts.

Starscream and Thundercracker, seeing their trinemate warp a stassis-locked Soundwave in a ping from the other Seeker, debated between themselves on whether to report it. Starscream quickly thought of an idea.

 _Megatron is going to be so fragging pissed about this, TC._ Starscream sighed/whined through their comm. line. _We need to do something to make sure the slagger doesn’t throw a fraggin tantrum and beat our afts when we get back.,_

 _And what do you suppose we do, Screamer? Capture Optimus?_ Thundercracker rumbled sardonically beside him as the jets neared the base, about to pass over it.

_Perhaps not Prime, but a minion will do._

And Starscream nose-dived, angling himself sharply and controlling the boost in his thrusters to a steady stream, readying to collect his pet. A thrumming buzz vibrated through his jet form as he closed in. We’re almost together, my pet, Starscream thought, saving a stillshot of his pet staring confusedly into the empty air beside him. Confused was a good expression, even when faked.

“STARSCREAM IS ABOUT TO RAM INTO YOU!” Mirage finally yelled, pulling at Jazz’s arm to get him out of the way.

There wasn’t much time for Mirage to warn Jazz, which made staying still and looking confused that much more convincing. In fact, if we go back it all seemed to happen in slow motion.

It took five nanokliks for Mirage to identify the increasingly loud whoosh and whine of engine as coming from a jet. It took a whole four more for him to angle his helm enough to see the red and grey Seeker. The last few nanokliks were spent in yelling a warning and barely wrapping a hand around Jazz’s arm to pull before a whirring jet knocked into Jazz, pinning him over its cockpit from the g-force and knocking Mirage on his aft as it zoomed away without slowing down, rising into the sky and being joined by a blue and grey jet.

Mirage sent a ping to the Lambo twins, praying to Primus they didn’t use all of their explosives. _Do you have explosives?_

_Static. –o. No, we—static—an out._

Slag. He sent a ping to Ironhide. _Starscream’s captured Jazz! Try to shoot him out of the sky. They should be passing over your direction._

_Little busy—grunt—here, ‘Rage—FRAG! They’ve got Jazz? (rrg. Take that Eradicon slag) Okay, I’m lookin… lookin’—HA! Not so pretty now, huh?—‘Kay, lookin’… I see ‘em, but they’re way too high up. I’d hit Jazz for sure. Fraggin slag pit. Lemme talk to Optimus, we’ll get a recon team together soon as we can._

_Okay. Mirage out._ He turned off the comm., feeling guilty. Mirage schooled his expression like he was taught in the Towers—calm, collected. Professional. In total control. He needed to keep it together to help plan. Prowl might not be so dependable.

\--  
**  
\--

Shadowshock had offlined his optics long ago, quelling the urgent warnings in his HUD about how much his tank wanted to purge at the g-force, and turning off his audials to stop the gusts of whistling wind constantly filling them with static. His servos gripped around the grey wings, body spread-eagled and legs straddling the cockpit of his master. Mmm. He was finally with his master. Shadowshock grinned, resting his forehelm on the warm metal beneath him and giving the wings a squeeze.

Starscream sent a moan along a private comm. line. _Keep that up, pet, and I’ll have to find someplace to land. Keep calm and hold onto your master. We’ll reach the base soon, and when we do…_

He sent a deep chuckle across the line. His heating frame and lust-filled processor must have leaked across the bond, as Starscream got an inquisitive ping from Thundercracker. He sent feelings of smugness/accomplishment/irritation/lust along their bond, also with a response ping with a short message attached: _all in good time, TC._

And with the warm, humming form of his master underneath him, Shadowshock felt his Decepticon programming initiate fully, overriding his Autobot programs that coded for loyalty to the Prime and ensuring the safety of the matrix within Optimus. His encrypted Jazz file, unnoticed, remained fully intact, but not easily accessible.

Shadowshock grinned as his optics switched to their true red. He was home.

\--  
**  
\--

It didn’t take too long for the uninjured Autobots to gather after being sent an urgent ping from Optimus. Maybe a breem, at most.  
Mirage debriefed them quickly—they were on the roof, Starscream saw the plan failed, and he took Jazz as a hostage.

Most optics wearily glanced at Prowl, who was stiffer than a newly onlined mech who had never heard of energon before.

Optimus himself felt a twinge in his spark when he noticed the tell-tale sign of internal turmoil in the hitched-up doorwings of his SIC. There was no time for worry, however, so he put on his command face.

Optimus turned to Prowl, who was the most adept at strategy. Now he just had to see how far those abilities went in the face of ultimate stress.

“Prowl?” He said in his commanding tone. “What do your scenario protocols dictate as the most successful form of infiltration and rescue?”

Prowl dutifully tilted his helm slightly as his protocols ran. Most of the mechs in the room relaxed a bit, half expecting him to respond in an emotional way.

“With a three mech squad and a distraction of a certain magnitude,” Prowl vocalized steadily, “success is 98%, sir.”

Optimus nodded, very pleased with the statistic. “And who would you recommend for the squad?”

Prowl’s optics met his commander’s. “Ironhide, Mirage, and myself, sir. Mirage is necessary to sneak far enough inside to find Jazz, but he will need protection. Ironhide is capable of massive defense while I am a suitable counter-offence.”

Wheeljack piped up, “What about this distraction we need?”

Ironhide whispered somewhat quietly to Bumblebee beside him, “Good thing Hatchet’s fully stocked the medbay, huh?” Bumblebee burst static chuckles into his hand, while Wheeljack glared at them.

Prowl answered, “We don’t necessarily need to preoccupy a majority of Decepticons. All we require is a distraction that will keep Soundwave busy. Based upon the intel Red Alert gave me on the virus he spread into the Decepticon’s neural net, Soundwave should be functional and back to his monitoring duties within a few orn. With the time it takes to reach the Nemesis, I do not want to risk an infiltration attempt while their head of security is still conscious.”

Wheeljack deflated, shoulderplates sagging in disappointment. “So… probably no explosions, huh?”

Prowl merely flickered his optics, then turned to one of the undetectable camera lenses in the room, addressing their HOS, “Red Alert? I trust you may already have a solution?”

Red Alert’s voice answered over the intercom, restricted solely to the soundproof meeting room, “You would be correct in that assumption. As I cannot leave base, this severely restricts my capabilities; however, if I was able to send a ping with a re-initiation code encrypted in it, I should be able to activate the virus again. It’s merely a dormant one. The Decepticons cannot deactivate it permanently unless they know exactly what virus it is, and, as I coded it myself, that would be nearly impossible.”

Optimus’ chassis rumbled in a chuckle as he smiled, tilting his helm to where his optics met the camera lens, “Very good, Red Alert. You have once again proven yourself as more than capable of handling your position as head of security. Remind me to give you a day off.”

Red Alert responded quickly, “While I appreciate the sentiment, Prime, you know that I would never take such a luxury. I believe you all are informed of the dangers my absence may cause via the ‘100 Ways Decepticons Can Infiltrate the Base and Torture Us All’ file that I sent through the mass ping system just last orn?”

Optimus nodded stoically, expertly hiding a smile, and said, “What is required for you to reactivate the virus?”

Red Alert paused for several nanokliks before answering, “Well, the most ideal situation would be for me to set up an identification-locator program and download it onto a chip that can be attached to the Decepticon’s intercom system or door panel—anything that’s controlled by their main computer—so that I can pinpoint Soundwave’s comm. frequency and send the reactivation code through that.”

Prowl nodded. “Ready the chip and our three mech team will ensure that it is implemented. I anticipate a 97.8% success rate with this plan. Acceptable.” He turned his helm towards Optimus. “We await your orders, sir.”

Optimus met Ironhide’s optics. The big red mech grinned and nodded firmly. Optimus smiled and turned to Mirage, who did not smile, but nodded as well.

“Very well. Red Alert, ready the chip as efficiently and as quickly as possible. Prowl, coordinate with your team.” Optimus’ optics hardened. “Let’s go rescue our comrade.”

A series of loud bangs and clangs came from the hallway, making the mechs in the meeting all turn their helms curiously. Then they heard raised voices and the sound of running pedes.

“Honest to Primus, Ratchet, I’m FINE!” They heard a loud clang. “OUCH!”

Most of the mechs chuckled. It was Sideswipe.

“FINE my fraggin aft, you worthless scrapheap,” they heard Ratchet growl. “Get back in that medbay and recharge like a good mech or I’ll weld your pedes together! GO!” They heard another clang followed by a static-filled whine.

“Okay, okay, Hatchet. Don’t kill me! I’m going… But only if you catch me first!”

“Wha—? You—? GET BACK HERE YOU SLAGGIN PIT SPAWNED GLITCH OF A FRAGGED DECEPTICON! I’m going to boil your circuits!”

The Autobots in the meeting room erupted into laughter as the yelling and frantic sound of running pedes passed the door and continued down the hallway, occasionally with a solid clang of a thrown wrench and the subsequent wailing from a mischievous Lambo.

It was nice, Optimus thought, to have a calming moment like this before such a stressful one. He sent a ‘thank you’ ping to Ratchet, taking a mischievous note from Sideswipe and adding a memory file with the feeling of a soft kiss. He really needed to be more obvious with that thick-plated mech. And Wheeljack, for that matter. He looked over at the laughing red, green, and grey mech, who couldn’t help but look back, and flickered just one of his optics in imitation of a wink.

The image of Wheeljack’s faceplates going straight from humor to profound confusion/disbelief/intrigue, with increasingly rising optic ridges, would remain in Optimus’ neural net forever.

\--  
**  
\--

Starscream and Thundercracker—with Shadowshock at Starscream’s side walking obediently two steps behind him—had arrived at the Nemesis in record time and were walking back to their quarters, Thundercracker sending endless inquiring pings to Starscream and occasionally glancing distrustfully at the grey Autobot whose optics had turned red. He was thoroughly confused.

Starscream went to the room full of spare parts and a few operation berths that they called a medbay and started rifling through one of the cabinets, pulling open metal drawers and closing them with a rattle, opening more, and occasionally muttering to himself.

Thundercracker, moving his gaze from where the Autobot had kneeled, sitting on his knee-plates in what appeared to be a patient, submitting position, to Starscream and finally vocalizing, “What’s going on, Starscream? I’m losing my patience here.”

“Quit whining and help me find those electric cuffs,” Starscream scoffed, moving to another cabinet.

Thundercracker raised an optic ridge, and did not move from where he was closest to the door. “I’d rather not give our Autobot prisoner a chance to escape,” he rumbled.

Starscream turned his helm with a slag-eating grin. “Oh you don’t have to worry about that, TC.” He chuckled in harsh bursts of static. Thankfully, Thundercracker didn’t have to argue as Starscream pulled out a pair of electric cuffs (just a couple of magnetized nodes with energy conductors welded to them at the moment) and swaggered over to the kneeling Autobot.

Shadowshock kept his helm bowed as he heard his master’s pedes stop in front of him. Then a slender, almost hook-like, silver servo pressed under his chin to lift up his helm.

“Lift out your wrists, pet,” Starscream said with a smug smirk, ignoring Thundercracker’s inhaling, sputtering vent.

Shadowshock lifted his arms, holding out his wrists eagerly, red optics sparking in anticipation.

Starscream’s chassis vibrated with a rumbling purr as he snapped the magnetic nodes, one on each side of both the mech’s wrists, then sent a spark into the energy conductors that whirred to life, snapping waving strings of electricity around the silver wrists from node to node, leaping across the gap from one wrist to the other and forming undulating blue rings around the mech’s wrists.

Shadowshock shivered at the constant bombardment of short, tingling bursts from his wrists up his arms. Starscream chuckled again and headed for the door, pausing briefly to whisper in Thundercracker’s audial, “Oooh, trust me, TC. We’re going to have so much _fun_ with my pet.”

But Thundercracker would have to find out a little later, as it took several kliks for him to reboot his frozen processor—enough time for Starscream to leave the room, cackling madly with his pet in tow. TC’s processor had nearly shorted out after figuring out why the Autobot’s eyes were red and Starscream called him ‘pet’.

The Decepticons had a sleeper agent. And now Thundercracker was going to frag him. Or be fragged. He wasn’t picky, even though the little grey Autobot was about half his size. He smirked, all but running back to their quarters, hoping that Starscream wasn’t too far along.

\--  
**  
\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Sorry for all the plot that happened in this chapter. The next one is almost totally porn, I promise! ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is entirely porn. You're welcome.
> 
> Also also, I took some liberties with both size (just as a reminder) and x-ray vision. *shrugs* what can I say. It's one of my kinks. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**

After narrowly avoiding being pelted over the helm by an irate Hook (“Who plundered my medbay, you carrier fragger?!”), Thundercracker, venting harshly as he had resorted to full-out running, occasionally getting a boost from his thrusters, hastily palmed open the sliding door to their quarters, optics training quickly to the right corner where the berth was situated.

Of course Starscream would start already. The slagger had his cuffed pet laving his pedes with a lubricated glossa, while Screamer rubbed his own chassis, tweaking the cables in his neck and teasingly rubbing a servo around his ports.

Thundercracker hadn’t seen Starscream selfservice in a long time. The image sent a wave of heat through his entire system. He tilted his head to the side, seeing Skywarp standing there with a gaping mouth. Starscream must’ve not bothered to explain, then. He walked over to the smaller Seeker, leaning down to whisper in his bondmate’s audial, “That, Sky, would be Screamer’s new pet. Evidently he had a clever plan and somehow sent in that sleeper agent into the Autobot scum’s ranks.”

Skywarp shivered at the hot vents against his audial, leaning back to rest his helm on the taller mech’s shoulder plate before replying, “Must’ve sent him in back on Cybertron, then.” His vocalizer clicked a sharp giggle. “How much you wanna bet he forgot?”

Thundercracker chuckled, the deep rumbles making his chassis vibrate and warm up Skywarp’s back. “Two energon cubes he didn’t remember until we landed on Earth.”

Skywarp smirked, turning around and pressing his forehelm against TC’s. “I’ll match it, but I bet he didn’t even remember until the sleeper protocols kicked in.”

Thundercracker matched his smirk, saying, “Deal,” before tilting his helm forward, smashing their lips together and plundering Skywarp’s mouth with his glossa.

Skywarp moaned, bringing up his hands to clasp at Thundercracker’s helm, venting harshly at the big glossa filling his mouth. He loved it when TC kissed him. Skywarp was small for a Seeker, a little over half of TC and Screamer’s size. And that worked perfect for him. He loved being filled.  
Flicking his own glossa in response to TC’s, Skywarp moaned again, curving his smaller glossa around TC’s bigger, sending the vibrations through the other mech’s and rubbing at the sensitive nodes in the middle of the wide glossa that touched both sides of his dental plating.

Thundercracker moaned deeply in his chassis, and decided to do something about his uncomfortably bent-over position. Cupping Skywarp’s thighs and aft, the bigger mech lifted the little Seeker, who squealed and wrapped his legs around TC’s waist.

Thundercracker moved his thick glossa back and forth, out and then deeper into Skywarp’s mouth, fragging him slowly with it as the smaller mech shuddered with faint clangs of metal against metal as their chassis’ met with each full-frame shiver, brushing their rapidly warming interface panels together.

Skywarp moaned loudly, rubbing and grinding his now hot panel into Thundercracker’s. But his loud moan was outmatched by Shadowshock’s yelp.  
Thundercracker and Skywarp broke their kiss and impending frottage to look over at the new Decepticon. His electrically cuffed wrists were pinned over his head by the cuffs locked unto a hook on the head of their berth. Shadowshock’s grey frame was writhing on the berth, mouth gaping silently, red optics shuttered, as Starscream’s helm bobbed in a staccato rhythm at his interface equipment.

Skywarp and Thundercracker couldn’t accurately see from their position near the door, so Thundercracker moved forward, still grasping Skywarp’s thighs and aft, to the berth. Luckily for the Seekers, they were renowned for their near insatiable sexual appetites, so their berth was nearly five times the standard size—plenty of room for a four or five-some. One time they had an orgy that couldn’t help but spill over into the floor, but for this situation the berth was perfect.

Thundercracker sent a ping to Skywarp, who, in a feat of pure gracefulness, lowered himself to brace his two arms on the berth close to Shadowshock, twisting his body to unhook his legs from around TC’s waist and resting his knee plates on the berth between his hands. His helm was directly over the new Decepticon’s, who blearily unshuttered his red, slightly flickering optics.

“Hello there,” Skywarp purred, bracing himself on one arm to slide a slim silver servo down the mech’s neck and teasingly circling his neck ports with the other. “I’m Skywarp. What’s your designation?”

“Sh-Shadowshock,” he vented, gasping in mingled pain and pleasure as Starscream probed his dripping valve with a slender servo, laving at the outer sensory nodes of his valve with his large, hot glossa.

Thundercracker and Skywarp sent a ping of approval to Starscream, who sent a wave of smug/pride/lust/need over their bond.  
Feeling slightly left out, Thundercracker gripped Skywarp’s thighs, pushing them apart and dropping to his knees so he could vent hotly over the smaller mech’s interface panel.

Skywarp keened, wiggling his aft and arching his back, purple-lined wings shuddering before he regained his composure, bending his elbow joints and lowering his chassis to the berth with his aft in the air. Skywarp tilted his helm over to kiss the side of Shadowshock’s faceplate. The mech turned his helm, optics still flickering in distracted pleasure, but curious.

Skywarp grinned, kissing the other mech and eagerly caressing the glossa slightly smaller than his, relishing in the fact that the littler sensory nodes were able to slide between and rub against his own in a way that TC and Screamer could not.

He moaned appreciatively, servos stroking the other mech’s neck, dipping into his neck ports, and the other hand cradling the grey helm to deepen the kiss, tilting his helm further to lock their lips together, glossa smoothing over dental plating and swirling around the hot tip of the other mech’s glossa. Skywarp and Shadowshock moaned, glossa dipping into the others’ mouths, sliding past to delve as deeply as they could. Oral lubricant glistened on the mechs’ lip plating.

Thundercracker flickered his optics twice to regain his composure, interface panel snicking open insistently. Giving Skywarp’s thighs and aft a squeeze from where TC still gripped him, Thundercracker leaned forward, large glossa wiggling and lavishing up and down the cables where Sky’s thigh met his interface panel. It was one of his more obvious hot spots.

Skywarp whimpered, breaking the kiss—Starscream shuddered to see a string of oral lubricant stretch and snap between them—as Sky vented short, hot pants over Shadowshock’s mouth, his hands stilling on the other mech’s neck as Thundercracker pressed his hot glossa widely over his interface panel.

“TC. Hah hah aaaaah yes!” Skywarp’s interface panel snicked open immediately.   
Wasting no time, Thundercracker plunged his glossa into that wet valve, wiggling deeper as he sealed his lips over the rim and sucking.

“OOOOH! AAH!”

Skywarp’s hands, shaking and immobilized on Shadowshock’s chassis and neck, shifted and one servo dipped not-so-innocently into his neck port.  
The servo scratched at the delicate metal, the charge building in both of their frames causing a spark to snap through Shadowshock’s neck port. Combined with Starscream’s vigorous efforts to stick his servo as far into his valve as possible while still laving at his outer sensor like an energon goodie, it was more than enough to cause his charged systems to tip over into overload.

Shadowshock’s optics shuttered, helm thrown back and frame stretched tight. “AAAAH! Ha-ah haaah nnnnngg.”

Starscream lapped up the transfluid, catching it from leaking down his pet’s aft and cleaning the drops on his quivering thighs.

Skywarp chuckled, nuzzling Shadowshock’s faceplates and whispering, “Not touched in your port much then, huh?” He dipped the tip of his glossa in the grey mech’s neck port, flicking and pushing his glossa in as far as it could in the small space.

“Oh. Oooh. Mmmm.” Shadowshock started to writhe, circling his hips and shifting his legs, while Starscream watched eagerly as his pet’s spike slowly started to pressurize again.

Thundercracker looked over at Starscream, sending an inquiring pulse through their bond. He had removed his glossa from Skywarp’s now soaking valve, and the Seeker wasn’t too happy about it. He wiggled his aft, whimpering around the port he was lavishing with attention. TC chuckled silently, chassis vibrating being the only sign of his amusement.

Starscream sent him an image. Thundercracker grinned lecherously. After a ping from Screamer, Skywarp propped himself up with an elbow and a hand to his chin, drumming impatient servos along the grey mech’s chassis.

“Pet,” Starscream purred, running a servo up Shadowshock’s thigh to his kneeplate.

Shadowshock looked down, flickering his optics. “M-master?”

“I think you’ve done very well so far, but I want to make certain you understand something.” Starscream said, still stroking that warm plating, dipping into his cables occasionally.

“Mmm. Hah. Oooh, yes, master. Anything,” Shadowshock vented in pants, trying to get his processor to stop from being carried away in the heady waves of pleasure rushing up and down his frame.

Starscream leaned forward, optics staying locked with Shadowshock’s as his helm stopped directly over his pet’s rapidly lubricating valve, whispering hot vents over it, “I’m a reasonable mech.” He traced a servo around Shadowshock’s valve, causing it to clench and a bead of lube escape, trailing down his grey aft and onto the berth.

“I want to make certain that you’re treasured, my pet. You are invaluable to me.” He flicked his glossa out to sharply tease an outer sensor cluster.

“AH!” Shadowshock gasped, unable to stop his optics from shuttering completely. Then he onlined them quickly, seeing his master rise onto his knees.

Starscream smirked. “We’re going to start slow, pet.” He turned his helm to Skywarp. “Let’s work our way up.” His smirk was mirrored on Skywarp’s faceplates.

“Oh I like this plan, Screamer,” Skywarp said, eagerly crawling over Shadowshock and kneeling between the slightly bigger mech’s legs. His protocols for sharpening his servos long disabled, Skywarp sunk in one silver servo (“OH!”), circling it in the already somewhat stretched valve before nudging in another and scissoring them (“Aah! Yesss”).

Skywarp pumped his servos in and out, relishing in how the wet, soft walls clenched at them, sucking them further into that heat he couldn’t wait to sink his spike into. He nudged at the rim with a third servo, denta biting at his lower lip plating to prevent to needy whine from escaping as he scissored his two servos wide, feeling the walls stretch even further as he sunk in his third servo with a twist (“AAAAH! Nnng. Hah haaah ooh”), then turning the other way and pumping slowly in and out. His audials picked up every keening moan the other mech made, the wet slide of his servos in the other mech’s sopping wet valve.

He was nearly vibrating his charge was so overwhelming. Skywarp hadn’t even gotten to overload from Thundercracker’s glossa.

He couldn’t wait anymore.

Skywarp scooted forward slightly, hands cupping behind the other mech’s kneeplates and hitched the grey pedes up beside Sky’s neck, avoiding his spiky shoulderplates. He quickly lined up his dripping spike against the rim of that warm valve and moaned, restraining himself from plunging immediately inside.

Shadowshock was about to lose his mind. His charge was whipping through his frame, sending shocks and tingles with each heady wave that built and surged every time the slightly smaller mech’s servos scratched against the sensory nodes in his valve. He felt the almost tentative press of burning hot spike against his valve and moaned, trying to shift his hips down and relieve the ache deep inside his sopping wet valve, but the electric cuffs stopped him. He groaned and whined, red optics meeting Starscream’s.

“M-master. I’m so—nnng—so h-hot. Hah aaaah please!”

Starscream chuckled, chassis purring in contentment. So his pet liked being taken fast? He could definitely work with that. Starscream pinged Skywarp the okay to not be gentle.

Skywarp gripped Shadowshock’s hips, sinking into the other mech’s valve and throwing his helm back at the tight, tight sucking on his spike, optics shuttering. “AAAAH! Oh you’re so tight. Aah!”

Shadowshock keened as he was stretched, feeling the hot spike brush and rub and slide against the sensory nodes in his valve, but it just wasn’t far enough. He vented hard.

“M-more! NNnnnnng PLEASE.” He shifted his hips. “OH more! Hah hah. Deeper!”

Skywarp pulled out half of his spike, gripping Shadowshock’s hips and slamming back in with a short thrust (“OH! Aaaaah yesss!”). He paused for a nanoklik to rein himself in, denta biting into his lower lip plate at the surging charge through his frame from the friction.

Shadowshock whimpered again, twitching his hips and pulling at Skywarp with his legs.

“Please please please please,” he whispered over and over, frame shaking at the pent up energy.

Skywarp’s optics took in the sight, and he couldn’t hold back anymore. They both needed it to be hard. His hips shifted back and started pumping, short and slow thrusts, but building speed.

“Ooooh yes. Aah!” Shadowshock moaned, shuddering.

Skywarp vented in harsh, short pants, adjusting his grip on Shadowshock’s hips as his pace sped up, keeping his thrusts short and hard, impaling himself deep into the wet valve pulsing around his spike, slamming his hips against that grey aft and warm thighs as his spike was swallowed over and over by Shadowshock’s clenching valve.

“AH AAH AAAH AAAAAAAH! YES!” Shadowshock yelled, vocalizer crackling static at the nearly overwhelming charge building in heady waves surging through his undulating frame. He rolled his hips into each short, hard, and now fast thrust, begging for a punishing pace.

“OOH! AAAAH! MORE! HARDE—AAH!”

His needy stream was cut off as Skywarp lifted his hips, hitching up his legs to where his knees rested beside his shoulderplates, legs on his chassis, and then, gripping right where Shadowshock’s waist met his hips, impaled his searing spike into that heady valve over and over, slamming in and pulling out like a piston—short and sharp and burning.

“AAAAAHHHH!” Shadowshock’s scream tapered off into pure static, hips arched in the air where Skywarp was holding them only to slam back into the silver hips. His valve was nearly convulsing at the rapid burn of the spike rubbing his sensory nodes along the entire anterior, sharp sparks of electric charge whipping through his whole frame from his outer nodes being slammed into repeatedly. 

Skywarp’s denta dented his lip-plate, dripping out energon as he moaned loud and long at the valve pulsing like a grip, squeezing and releasing his spike so pleasure-bursting he was about to—

Starscream pulled Skywarp off, gripping Shadowshock’s pedes and laying them back on the bed.

Skywarp, leaking and pulsing spike aching, whirled on his bondmate, anger/confusion/hate/need/need/lust/please zinging through their bond. Shadowshock writhed on the bed, hips rolling up into the air and valve pooling lubricant onto the berth as he whimpered static.

Starscream glanced over at Thundercracker, then opened his chassis, removing something from his subspace. He held up a circular band of metal.

“Do you know what this is, my pet?” He said, walking slowly to the head of the berth to stand beside Shadowshock.

Frame still trembling, teetering on the peak of overload and just, just, just—no he couldn’t get there. Shadowshock whimpered. “Master. P-please! I need. I’m so close, master.”

Starscream frowned, vocalizer dropping into a dark tone. “Patience, pet. Do you not trust master Starscream to take care of you?”

Shadowshock whined. “No! No, master. I know you will. I know it, master. Just—” he broke off into a keen, rolling his hips into unfulfilling air. “I just neeeeeeeed you, master! Please, please, please, ple—”

Starscream interrupted with a slim, silver servo to his chin, tilting his helm to where Shadowshock’s red optics met his master’s. Starscream lifted the metal ring again. “I’ll ask only once more, pet. Do you know what this is?”

Shadowshock looked at the device. At first it looked like just a simple metal ring, but looking closer, he saw that it was more like two stacked on top of each other, meeting in the middle where there was a green button that looked almost like a gem it was so shiny. His optics widened.

“Is it for me, master?” He whispered, in awe, wondering what it was for.

Starscream chuckled darkly, his chassis vibrating at the rumbling. “Yes, pet. This is all yours. Do you want it?”

Shadowshock vented sharply, eager to receive a present. “Very much, master.”

“Good.” Starscream’s servo slid from Shadowshock’s faceplate down his chassis, dipping into his warm seams and quickly reaching his still fully pressurized spike.

“OOOH!!” Shadowshock yelled at the strong grip on his spike, keening a long whine as it didn’t pump. “Please, master. Hah aaaaaah oooh please.” Then he heard a click and the snicking slide of retracting metal against metal. He looked down at his spike. Starscream was holding the double-ringed device that was now wider, holding it above his spike like—

“AAAH! Hah haaaaaah master, please. Nnng. It’s—aaaaaah too much!” Shadowshock whined, helm tilting back and forth against the berth at the tight, tight clench around his fully pressurized spike, the metal cold against his burning hot equipment.

Starscream chuckled again, running a servo teasingly up his spike from root to tip, dipping it in a sharp sting just briefly into his small fuel tank hole (“OH!! AAH, PLEASE, master!”). Starscream removed his hand and purred, “Do you want relief, pet?”

Shadowshock, full frame writhing, hips undulating and spike shuddering into the open air, could only whine out a pitiful, “Yeeeees!”

“You must earn that privilege, my pet.” Starscream said, moving back to stand beside Shadowshock’s helm at the head of the berth. “Until that happens, you can watch Skywarp overload.”

Skywarp chirped eagerly, system still overheated and spike still mostly pressurized, but that was quickly fixed. Thundercracker moved behind him, picking him up and moving them both to the foot of the berth where he sat down, legs crossed, pulling Skywarp’s back and wings against his chassis, to sit in his lap.

Skywarp groaned deep at the sharp contact to his sensitive wings, leaning back and resting his helm high on Thundercracker’s blue-lined, silver chassis. His servos twitched from where they rested on top of Thundercracker’s, which were gripping his hips loosely.

“Come on, TC.” He vented, grinding his warm aft back into the larger mech’s pressurized spike. “I’m really not in a patient type mood here.”

Thundercracker growled in his audial, venting a warm puff of air as his hands gripped Skywarp’s hips harder, shifting his smaller frame up and along the length of his spike, rolling his own hips forward and back while holding Skywarp still. He rubbed his spike along the leaking valve, achingly hot and soft, coating the length of his spike in viscous lubricant as Skywarp moaned.

Shadowshock moaned in tandem, shifting and tilting his helm to the other side to better see, optics captivated at the hard, thick spike rubbing back and forth along Skywarp’s wet valve, the lubricant glistening across his thighs as it leaked. Shadowshock whined, feeling his own spike pulse to be met with a painful clamp of pressure from the ring.

Starscream watched everything—every venting pant, every tremble to wrack his chassis. But mostly he watched his pet. He watched how his venting breaths hitched as he saw Thundercracker lift up Skywarp to hover over his thick spike. He watched how his pet trembled as he saw the wide spike sink slowly into Skywarp’s clenching, soaking wet valve. But what made his spike ache, his valve to pulse, his spark to jump, was the expression of raw, unfiltered need that screamed from his pet’s optics and faceplates as Thundercracker slammed the rest of the way in.

“AAAHH!!! AH HAH hah aaaaaah, TC! OOH!” Skywarp screamed, moaning and shuddering as his valve was stretched wide, pulling his sensory clusters apart slightly in a pleasure-bursting burn.

Thundercracker groaned loudly into his audial, lifting him up by his hips all the way up until it was just the tip and ramming him back down, impaling him with his burning hot spike over and over in a stuttering rhythm, stabbing at the very, very far back of his valve to send shocking volts of charge through his body with each numbingly harsh thrust into his nodes.

“AAAH! YES! YES YES YES AAAAH, TC!” Skywarp screamed, frame shuddering and overloading hard, transfluid erupting from his spike after the prolonged wait, lubricant pooling onto his thighs and the berth as his valve pulsed, clenching as he rode out his overload.

The extra pressure pushed Thundercracker over. “NNNG, SKY!” He moaned, pumping his spike slowly into that clenching valve, his transfluid leaking from Skywarp’s valve and mixing with the lubricant.

Shadowshock was trembling uncontrollably now, his body shuddering in full-frame shudders, plates clacking together. He nearly sobbed out, “Please, master! P-please.”

Starscream looked down at his pet, reveling in the raw need the mech had for him. It was a thoroughly addicting expression.

“Very well, my pet,” he purred, “you have done well enduring for this time. I’ll let you overload.”

Shadowshock shifted his hips eagerly, optics trained on his master. “Thank you, master! You’re such a kind mech, a beautiful mech.” He keened, venting pants as he watched Starscream move to straddle his hips, never once touching his massively overheated plating.

He didn’t know how much more he could take. His cooling fans had been whirring for what felt like an age, his spike fully pressurized and building up a painful strain of repressed transfluid pulsing pained shocks against the clenching metal ring. He shifted his hips again, optics zeroed in on Starscream’s thick red lined, silver spike. Frag that will feel so good.

In a surprising move, Starscream unhooked his electric cuffs, holding his wrists and moving from his straddling position to set on his knees.  
“Kneel on your hands and knees, pet,” Starscream purred, his rumbling chassis nearly making it a literal purr.

Shadowshock moved forward, bending his elbows and knee plates to lean on the berth, looking over his shoulderplates to see his master sitting up on his own kneeplates and looking at their companions.

“Switch places. Frag Thundercracker, Skywarp. Pet? Suck TC’s spike.”

This order was met by a three-part harmony of moans.

Skywarp shivered, moving off of Thundercracker’s spike with a wet pop, groaning at the slick feel of transfluid and lubricant seeping out of his valve and down his thighs as he stood.

True to form, Thundercracker leaned forward, bracing one arm on the berth as the other cupped Skywarp’s aft, bringing him forward and lapping up the fluid, although somewhat hastily as his own valve was already coating itself in lubricant in anticipation.

Skywarp’s hands held Thundercracker’s helm, tilting it up to where their optics met.

“Love you too, TC, but right now I need to frag you ‘til your neural net shorts out.”

Thundercracker groaned, chassis trembling, and gave Skywarp’s spike a teasing swipe with his glossa, before sitting back up on the berth.  
“You’re the orchestrator, Screamer,” Thundercracker rumbled. “Where do you want me to fit?”

Starscream sent an image in an attachment ping. “You’re the one in the middle with my pet, Thundercracker.” Starscream smirked.

Thundercracker shivered, eyeing Starscream with a combined sense of lust and revenge. He responded with a ping containing a short, short attachment memory of him pounding into Starscream’s valve while the other mech proved his nickname, screaming so loud that they were forced to have their quarters soundproofed.

Starscream’s vocalizer sputtered, vents kicking into high gear at the charge-building image and secretly agreeing that they would have to do that position again. And soon. But not now. He kneeled behind Shadowshock, stroking the mech’s heated aft.

“Sit up for a klik, pet,” Starscream whispered hotly in Shadowshock’s audial, making him moan wantonly, spike twitching and initiating another keening whine from him. Starscream had more to do with Shadowshock’s upward position as he held him upright, hands firmly on the other mech’s warm chassis and thigh.

Thundercracker laid back on the berth, hands up to help lower the constantly shuddering, overheated mech over himself. Shadowshock bent his elbows, resting his helm on Thundercracker’s lower waist, right beside his halfway-pressurized spike, chassis to lower chassis and valve directly over Thundercracker’s mouth. Shadowshock’s knees shook from having to hold himself up, straddling the blue lined, silver Seeker’s faceplates. He was quickly steadied by Starscream gripping his hips, servos teasingly stroking his thighs.

Then Skywarp entered Shadowshock’s view, standing at the edge of the berth and lifting both of Thundercracker’s legs to rest thighs to his chassis, knees hooked over his shoulders where they barely squeezed in, wedged between Skywarp’s neck and his pointed shoulderplates.  
Skywarp couldn’t help but feel a satisfying surge at the exact reversal in position. He flickered an optic at Shadowshock. “Ready for a spark-bursting overload, Screamer’s pet?”

But before Shadowshock could even vocalize a response, it was like an unconscious starting gun sounded. At once, all three Seekers moved: Starscream plunged in two servos, stretching his thoroughly lubricated and pulsing valve wide (“AH!”), while Thundercracker simultaneously engulfed his throbbing spike into his cavernous mouth, laving up his painfully pressurized spike with a hot glossa.

His optics surged red, vocalizer only able to blurt a “GUH!” before Skywarp thrust into Thundercracker, his smaller spike stabbing roughly into the rarely stimulated middle of the Seeker’s valve, which in turn caused Thundercracker to moan around Shadowshock’s spike.

The vibrations sent him off—Shadowshock moaned, pressing his helm to Thundercracker’s lower waist as his frame shook uncontrollably from the dry overload, transfluid pulsing, pulsing, pushing, and pressing in waves against the metal ring that had a vice-like grip on his searing hot spike. He felt his valve compressing, tightening and relaxing in cycles and squeezing against Starscream’s stretching servos as lubricant flowed in a steady stream down his thighs. Venting harshly, chassis shuddering, Shadowshock pleaded into the metal below him, feeling utterly drained and exhausted and worn.

“P-please, master. Hah hah haaah. I n-need—mmm so deep—I need to overload! P-please!”

Starscream stretched out Shadowshock’s valve with his now three servos, slicking them up thoroughly in lubricant by sheathing them fully into Shadowshock’s tight, wet valve and fanning them out (“AAAH! M-master!”).

“Mm. Yes. Very soon, pet,” Starscream purred. “Keep that pretty mouth of your occupied and suck TC’s spike. It looks lonely.”

Now noticing Skywarp thrusting in a steady, slow pace into Thundercracker (who still had his mouth sealed around Shadowshock’s spike), barely even making the bigger mech’s frame move, Shadowshock turned his helm, staring at the thick spike before grabbing it with one hand.

It was very warm, was his first thought, followed by awe in how it took both of his hands to wrap fully around it. It was a close thing, but he needed both. Matching the almost lazily sucking pace Thundercracker was using on his smaller spike, occasionally laving from root to tip with his wide glossa, Shadowshock flattened his own glossa and swiped it up the big spike at the same time, feeling the larger mech’s vibrating chassis against his own.

Skywarp kept up his steady pace, in and out, gripping TC’s hips to add a hard slam, stabbing his hot spike at the overly sensitive nodes in the middle of Thundercracker’s leaking valve. TC froze, groaning around Shadowshock’s spike and sending more vibrations through it. Simultaneously, Starscream nudged the head of his spike into Shadowshock’s sopping wet valve.

Shadowshock felt like he was going to die from the barrage of sensations—all of the built-up charge ricocheted through his frame, volts of electricity surged through his cords, nearly shorting his power net in sparking bursts and making the tingling sensations shooting from his painfully pressurized spike and thoroughly stretched valve almost pale in comparison.

Then Starscream thrust in fully, and Shadowshock felt like he really did die. His neural net fritzed, processor whirring loudly, cooling vents on at full blast, valve stretched impossibly wide, and pressure building, pulsing, throbbing through his searing hot spike. He didn’t even realize how loud he was screaming until his audials kicked back in.

Starscream felt a pulse of shockingly strong electricity shoot up his spike at how tight his little pet’s valve was, squeezing his hot spike almost painfully tight. He moaned, watching as TC gave up sucking on Shadowshock’s spike in favor of venting and exclaiming as Skywarp began to pound into his valve sharply, chasing his rapidly approaching overload.

Starscream’s optics turned green as he activated his x-ray field, reducing the mech’s in front and below and around him to their protoforms, sparks pulsing brightly as the waves of electricity surged in waves through their cables. He looked at Skywarp and Thundercracker first, watching as Skywarp’s smaller spike plunged in and out of Thundercracker’s perfectly sized valve.

There was enough tightness for the rippling walls, dribbling lubricant, to shift out and in, sucking and releasing. Starscream saw the thin sparks of electricity shoot from Thundercracker’s sensitive valve, joining to make a wave that surged across his entire frame, washing over his spark and making it pulse a bright blue.

He turned his gaze to his pet, a writhing, panting, and screaming mess on top of Thundercracker.

“Mmm.” Starscream moaned, gripping the grey hips and shifting his spike back and forth slightly (“AAAAAAH!”), hissing at the tight, tight squeeze, watching eagerly as he saw the valve entirely with his field.

It was the angle that made it so tight. He shifted Shadowshock’s hips up, feeling the slight release, before pulling his thick spike out, seeing as his pet’s valve walls pulled themselves closer as they were released from the burning stretch.

He left just the tip in, just the tip, seeing how the ringed entrance of Shadowshock’s valve clutched at his thick spike in clenching pulses. It was enough to make him groan wantonly, sinking his spike in fully again and watching it push against and slightly past his pet’s deepest sensory nodes in the very, very back of his valve.

He saw the wave building, and sent a ping to Skywarp and Thundercracker to open their chassis’ and send out a sparkpulse in three nanokliks.  
Starscream turned off his x-ray field, opening his own chassis and pulling Shadowshock off of Thundercracker and into his lap, impaling his pet as far as he could possibly go on his spike (“AAAAAHH!! YES!! P-PLEASE, MASTER!”). He panted, hand fumbling to open his pet’s chassis as Skywarp opened Thundercracker’s, pumping ruthlessly into the larger mech’s valve like a sharp piston.

Then all of their chassis’ were open, sparks pulsing wildly in their chambers from wave after wave of heady electric current surging through their cables. And Starscream sent a small pulse with his individual spark signature through his finger and into Shadowshock’s spark chamber, opening it for the very first time, then deactivating the spike ring, slipping it off of his pet’s weeping spike.

And all of them yelled in tandem as the Seeker trine sent out a simultaneous spark pulse—blue, purple, and red flashing—shattering them all into a loud, static-filled overload.

Shadowshock had never overloaded so hard in his entire life. He immediately fell into stassis lock.

**


End file.
